thesegreeneyes
by prouvaires
Summary: -he has this issue where having her close is second-nature.- LilyTeddy


**Disclaimer: **All characters, settings, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm just screwing around with them.

**Rating: **T

**Pairing: **LilyTeddy

**A/N: **I know Lily's eyes are supposed to be brown, but I don't care what J.K. Rowling says: in my head any daughter of Harry's has his green eyes. Sorry if you're a die-hard canon shipper-type …

--

So she's got hair like (raging) fire and (mind-fucking) green eyes that rake him up and down like he's a racehorse in the paddock. She walks past with her hips swinging _just so _and the mouths around him fall open (so what if she's jail-bait as far as they're concerned?) and she tosses her head in that way she has and his eyes dart from the elegant twist her (fiery) hair is restrained in down to her short skirt and her long legs and all the reasons this can't happen are being pushed out of his mind by (pure) need of her.

She looks back over her shoulder and catches his eye – (emerald) green into (sapphire) blue and their gazes lock like melted gemstones.

_Love me,_ her eyes say, the way they always have. She thinks (mistakenly) that she can hide her insecurity. (She should know there's nothing she can hide from him.) She hides the unsurety behind a long-lashed wink, and he shuts his eyes, snapping the contact, and listens to the sound of her footsteps receding.

_I do, angel, _he thinks as he watches her disappear into the crowd, and immediately the guys around him wake from their reverie.

"Did you _see _her?!"

"Man, I'd give a thousand galleons to tap that."

"…those _legs_…"

"That _arse_…"

At some point he loses it. (He credits his short temper to the werewolf in his blood – you got any better suggestions?)

"She's _sixteen_."

They turn on him instantly.

"You know her?"

"Dude, you have to get me her number!"

He rolls his eyes and drags a hand through his (messy) hair.

"She's Harry Potter's daughter."

Silence reigns, and then mournful expressions are all turned to the place she disappeared.

"That sucks."

This seems to be the general feeling of things, and Teddy takes advantage of their distraction to slip away. He finds her in the hallway, sunk onto a couch in a recess.

"What were you thinking?" he demands, crashing down onto the cushions next to her. She blinks innocently up at him – all ingenuity and temptation (and far too young, remember?) and he drops his face into his hands.

"I'm sick of dad treating me like a five-year-old," she tells him petulantly, dragging his hands away from his face and pulling them into her lap, playing with his fingers. "I need to be noticed as someone other than 'Harry Potter's daughter'."

"You'll be noticed as a slut," he retorts angrily, his finger sliding to toy with the ribbon at the top of her stockings. Her face falls (this kills him inside). She reaches up to adjust her headband, and with a sigh he moves his hand and removes it completely, allowing the curls that have escaped to fall around her face, framing it gently.

"So be it," she replies, and his fingers trace the angry red line the headband has left.

"You're better than this, Lils," he tells her softly, and his forefinger slides down to trace the outline of her lips. "You're too beautiful to ruin yourself," he continues, wiping her heavy red lipstick off with his thumb. "Just be _you_. You're perfect the way you are."

She looks like she's about to cry, and without thinking (he has this issue where having her close is second-nature) he pulls her into an embrace and gently loosens the pins from her hair, allowing it to fall unimpeded down her back.

"If I'm so perfect, why do no boys ever notice me?" she asks, her voice muffled where it's pressed against his shirt.

He sighs again (she's so _blind_).

"They do notice you, angel," he promises, wiping away a stray tear. "They just respect your father too much to make a move."

She refuses to look up at him. (And he's pathetic because he wants to see her face so badly he can't breathe.)

"With dad around I'll never find anyone who loves me."

He buries his face in her hair, his fingers twisting in the ends like he needs her to anchor him down. (How has she never _noticed_?)

"Trust me, Lils. There's someone who loves you more than the world. I know him. But he's too old for you."

She tilts her head to the side so that she can see into his eyes, and when a stray wisp of brown hair falls into his face, she brushes it away gently, curled into his embrace comfortably.

"Who?" she asks (she thinks she knows, but just in case …)

He half-smiles, his eyes briefly down-cast, and she pulls on the lapels of his shirt to get his attention back.

"Y'know," she says guilelessly, fiddling with the collar, "I'm sure he's not too old for me."

He shifts further back in the alcove and takes her with him, his large arm wrapped around her waist until it's like she's folded right into him. His other hand is still toying with her hair. (She's like this funny kind of drug – and he's beyond the help of any Narcotics Anonymous groups.)

"He is. Much too old. A whole eleven years."

She lets her head fall (perfectly) onto his shoulder, her (too long) legs draped across his lap, her arms around his neck.

"Eleven years is nothing," she whispers, and he sighs (for her naïveté and his hopelessness) and moves his hand to caress her back gently.

"Eleven years is everything," he replies quietly (desolately), and she reaches up and knots her fingers in his hair. (When did they start talking about _them_?)

"Nothing," she repeats, more firmly this time, and her lips move upwards to press against his. He gives in (for a second too long) and then pulls away suddenly, shuffling back across the couch away from her. Her eyes fill with tears.

"Teddy – "

"Lily, you know we _can't_," he breathes, his chest heaving as he tries to get himself back under control. (Yes, it's hard.) Her lip trembles, and without a thought he grabs her hand and pulls her upstairs, away from all the noise of the party.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, pressing her back against the door to her room as he paces in front of her, his hair flashing between orange, red and purple with his frustration.

"No, it's not you," he reassures her quickly. "It's never you."

"Then why did you push me away?" she asks quietly, her head hung and her eyes fixed on her white carpet. He moves to her instantly (she's hurting and it's his fault and yes he feels guilty) and takes her small hands in his.

"What would your father say?" he says softly, and really it's more of a statement than a question (they both know the answer to this one).

"I'm a little too old to care what my father thinks," she replies. He reads the lie in her (so wonderfuckingfully green) eyes instantly.

"You couldn't bear to have him mad at you," he counters calmly. (He's always had to be the mature one, and it's beginning to grate on him.) "I know how much his respect means to you."

"Why do I have to always be the _little girl_?!" she screams furiously, her hands suddenly reaching to claw at his face. (She's got this short temper from somewhere on her mother's side and she's always been too _young _and it's about time she was untied from her mother's apron strings and just allowed to _grow up_.)

"You're not – " he tries to interrupt, catching her wrists with an ease that belies long practice, but she's out of control (and it feels pretty fucking fantastic, she thinks).

"I'm always the _baby _– James and Al think they need to protect me _all the time_! And when it's not them it's you or dad or Uncle Ron or even _Hugo _even though he's five months younger than I am and not half as strong! I can't ever fight my own battles because there's always someone stepping in the way and taking the hex and reminding me _why the hell _I can't _wait _to get out of this dump!" she screeches, her eyes wilder than her temper as she sinks to the floor, sobbing.

Her wrists are still held prisoner in his hands and he drops to his knees in front of her, pulling her into his arms as soon as she deflates (and the fight's gone out of her so quickly he's worried there's something wrong). He doesn't have an answer to any of this so he just rocks her gently, soothing her until her sobs cease and her eyes are fluttering tiredly.

"Just wait 'til I'm eighteen," she mutters mutinously as he lifts her easily and sets her down gently on the bed, removing her shoes for her as she watches him. "Nothing's gonna stop me."

"I'm too old," he repeats again, his fingers sliding down her leg as he takes her stockings off. "You don't want to be stuck with me. Get out and find someone nearer your age to be with."

"I don't want someone nearer my age," she explains with an exasperated sigh (this argument is going round in circles) and sits up, her hands flying to pull him close. "I want _you_."

"Shh," he whispers, lying down beside her and curling up along her back, his hand draped around her waist easily. "You already have me," he murmurs in her ear, absently curling his fingers in the tips of her hair.

(She's _always _had him, really.)

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**A/N: **Please no favouriting without reviewing, thanks.


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